


this must be the cup the king held every night (as he cried)

by thefudge



Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body vs Mind, F/M, Impossible Loves, i feel a lot of things, song: Plastic Cup by Low
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: 1x10. They feel like disparate halves, stunted pieces of an old-fashioned puzzle. They might've matched in a different universe.





	this must be the cup the king held every night (as he cried)

**Author's Note:**

> you know that scene from Grey's Anatomy where Christina has that breakdown and she needs someone to sedate her? not to be dramatic, but yeah. 
> 
> the thing is, i tried to write a mini-fic where they live happily ever after and somehow, i still ended up in angst city.  
> these kids have broken me ;;___;; (and they'll always be endgame for me)

There is no good art to endings. No masterful stroke that can close a chapter. 

They've finished unpacking, but they can't be done. Not like this. 

"A goodbye drink," she offers him, brushing past him on the way to the kitchen.

He follows her. 

 

"You know what I'm afraid of?" she asks, staring at the hands in her lap. One of those hands is not entirely hers anymore. She is learning to let go of parts of herself, one by one.

Kovacs nurses his beer as if he were cradling a wounded bird. 

"He'll look at me and all I will see is a stranger," she says, clenching one fist.

"That's - that's not gonna happen. You just have to get to know him again," he mumbles, aware that his words sound sloshed in his mouth. He's not drunk. It's just been a long day. A long time. 

"What if I get to know him again and it still feels off...still feels wrong," she mumbles, tripping over her tongue. 

They're both too tired for this conversation, but the words still tumble out. 

Pictures come unbidden into his head. Her and Ryker in bed together, his hands on her body, his head in the hollow of her throat, and Ortega's eyes are  _terrified_.  Because she doesn't recognize him. 

Kovacs takes a long gulp. It sears the line of his throat. 

She doesn't guess what he's thinking. She laughs a short, brittle laugh. "I kept telling you to save his sleeve, but maybe I should've let you ruin it."

He considers this for a moment. "Ryker doesn't deserve that."

"I know." She winces. Ryker doesn't deserve her doubts either.

She remembers when Kovacs was about to blow his stack. She remembers the way he stared at her, as if she was the whole universe and he was only a dying planet.

She wants to tell him that in that moment, there was only him - Takeshi - and the cruel possibility of losing him. 

"Hey." He tilts her chin up with his thumb, cold from the bottle. "You fought for Ryker for three years. This...doesn't change that."

Kristin bites the inside of her cheek. "It's easy for you to say. _Has estado enamorado de la misma persona por 250 años..._ " 

Saying it in Spanish doesn't abate the jealousy in her voice. She feels it like a raw, pulsing wound. She can't imagine loving someone for that long. She wishes she could. 

" _Easy_?" he echoes and his mouth curls in that disdainful way she is so fond of. "Are you fucking kidding me? None of this is easy. Love isn't...easy. You gotta work at it, you gotta build it from the ground up...again and again. You think there weren't times when I hated her? When I didn't want to think about her?" 

Kristin swallows thickly. She wants to ask,  _did you hate her while you were with me?_

"You still love him," he continues, voice harsh and unyielding, as if he were telling her a fact. He doesn't sound happy about it, but that's reality for you. "The rest is just...details. You'll figure that shit out. You will, Ortega." 

She really wants to believe him. She stares into his eyes, in that secret place where  _he_  resides. He gives her a reassuring look. 

They hold hands over the table, finger clenched around each other.

They are trying to convince each other. 

They feel like disparate halves, stunted pieces of an old-fashioned puzzle. They might've matched in a different universe. 

She reflects on bodies, on their sufficiency. She reflects on their majesty too.

You can fall in love with the way a person wears a body. You can fall in love with the way they inhabit it. It's still Ryker's body, but there are subtle changes. His skin has a different shimmer now, his fingers are longer, softer. When he touches her, the electricity is muted - it's not a scream. When Ryker held her it was like being tossed into churning waters. 

Are bodies enough? Are they more than what we say they are? Where do you draw the line? Is Takeshi Kovacs only the consciousness inside, or has he not also taken possession of this flesh and transformed it in some obscure way?

She thinks,  _I love Ryker's body with you inside it_, and she wants to throw up. 

She excuses herself and rushes to the bathroom, stands over the sink, quietly heaving. 

 

 

He has finished his beer, he's preparing to leave. She has to say goodbye. In a matter of days, Ryker will have his sleeve back. Will return to her. And Takeshi Kovacs will be the purest expression of himself - the Envoy without a home. 

Kristin tugs at his coat, holds the lapels between her fingers.

"Take care of yourself, wherever you go. And maybe now and then...drop me a line, to let me know how you are.  Maybe I can even help you find..." She won't say her name. Her words peter into silence.

Kovacs stares down at her. He cups her cheek one last time. His warmth will never be replicated again, she knows. 

"I have to do this on my own, but I'll always keep tabs on you, Ortega." 

 _Always_. The word strikes her.

"Shit...I'll really miss you, you asshole," she mumbles, struggling not to cry. 

He leans down and presses his lips to her forehead in a way he's never done before. And she feels something breaking in that chaste kiss. Her resolve.

She hugs him fully, gripping him with her bionic arm. 

_Don't go, don't go, don't go...._

Envoys are like mind-readers. They know things they shouldn't. He lifts her head to him. 

"You gotta let me go." And his voice is hoarse. Laced with the finest poison. "You gotta let me go."

"What if I can't?" Her tears track her cheeks like stars. 

Kovacs closes his eyes briefly, in pain. "I  _need_  you to let me go."  _I can't be free unless you do_ , is the unspoken truth.

And she feels a small spark of joy, because there is doubt in him too. She wants to be utterly selfish and hold him there forever. 

But she loves him too much for that. 

She steps away from him with a dry sob. 

Kovacs runs his hand over his foreign face. There is nothing to be done, nothing he _can_ do. This body does not belong to him; it must be surrendered. He must find Quell before anyone else does. These are imperatives that no instinct inside him can abolish. 

Even if he wanted - _No_ , he cannot want anything else. 

Kristin walks stiffly towards the door and holds it open for him. 

She is a wreck. She is a wreck at the bottom of the ocean. She can hardly see him anymore for tears.

Kovacs dives towards the wreck one last time.

He grabs her face between his hands and kisses her on the lips with the last painful breath that this sleeve can muster. He kisses her enough to taste her, and to know that he will never get to taste her again. 

He kisses her like the last thing he'll ever do. And in a way, it's true.

Because when he gives up this body, he will not be the same Takeshi. He will have taken a part of it with him. 

 

 

Kristin watches his dark figure receding in the hallway. 

 _I love the thing you are in between_ , the unspoken words float between them.  _I love the negative space inside you. I love whatever you are, and are not._

_And I'll love you for however long it takes._

_I'll love you for 250 years and more._

 


End file.
